Stories of
American Heroes -
Brought to you from the "Home of Heroes" - Pueblo, Colorado

Most images in this series are thumbnailed to larger images.

The element of surprise had
served the first wave a Japanese aircraft well. Within 20 minutes of the initial
attack, all of the big battleships of the Pacific Fleet had suffered devastating losses,
and on the ground at Ford Island, Kaneohe Bay and Hickam Field, little was left of
America's air power. Slowly, in that first half hour, the Americans at Pearl Harbor
began to recover enough to arm their guns and begin firing back. A little before
8:30 the first wave of enemy planes turned back north to their carriers, leaving Pearl
Harbor in smoking ruin.

Five air stations were scattered across
the island of Oahu including the Naval Air Station at Kaneohe Bay and
the smaller Marine Air Station at Ewa. The bulk of the American air
presence in the Pacific was located at Wheeler Field near Schofield
Barracks in the center of the island, Hickam Field located between
Honolulu and Pearl Harbor, and the new Bellows Field on the island's
southeast coastline. In all, these five fields were home to some 400
aircraft on the morning of December 7, 1941; and all were priority
targets for Japanese Commander Mitsuo Fuchida's first wave of 183
fighter planes and torpedo bombers.

When the first wave approached the north
end of Oahu from their carriers just 200 miles away, they split up to
attack in all directions. One flight peeled off towards the Naval Air
Station at Kaneohe Bay where John Finn determinedly fought back. Despite
his courage, and similar valiant efforts by others at Kaneohe Bay,
within minutes twenty-six PBYs were destroyed where they sat and six
more were severely damaged. Only three planes that were out on a morning
patrol survived the attack of that first wave.

Six Zeroes from the enemy flight that
skirted the coastline to attack Pearl Harbor from the west peeled off as
they passed the Marine Air Station at Ewa to strafe the fields. Of
forty-eight aircraft based there, thirty-three US Marine Corps fighter
airplanes were destroyed or damaged.

Almost before the first bombs fell on
American ships around Ford Island, US Naval and Marine Corps aviation in
the Pacific had been reduced by half.

The damage was even worse
for the Army Air Force.

The
threat of sabotage was far greater than the threat of attack at
Pearl Harbor late in 1941, and to minimize this risk the Army
Air Force Commander Lieutenant General Walter C. Short had
ordered his airplanes to be neatly parked in highly visible rows
away from the hangers. At 7:51 a.m. Japanese aircraft descended
on Wheeler Field and, four minutes later, other enemy aircraft
simultaneously launched the assault on Pearl Harbor and nearby
Hickam Field.

The
bulk of the United States Army Air Force was destroyed on the
ground. By the time the second wave of Fuchida's attack
force arrived over Oahu, perhaps as many as 20 American
airplanes had risen to the defense. It was a feeble
attempt to preserve what remained. When the sun set over
the Hawaiian Islands on December 7, 1941, of nearly 230 Army
aircraft assigned to duty in the Pacific, 64 were destroyed and
82 were damaged. More than 500 airmen were either killed
or wounded.

The one hundred eighty-three Japanese
airplanes that attacked Oahu in the first wave on December 7, 1941 may
have ruled the skies, but they were not unchallenged. Even as Major
Landon dropped from his cloud cover into the exploding skies below,
American pilots were responding. By the time Landon's B-17 taxied to a
stop amid a hail of bullets and bombs, daring pilots were climbing into
any available and undamaged airplanes to respond.

Lieutenant Philip Rasmussen was still in
his pajamas as he raced across Wheeler Field in the center of Hawaii and
climbed into to his aging P-36 fighter. Ground crews were rushing around
trying to arm the few planes that had survived the initial onslaught.
Ammunition had been locked up in storage, for America was at peace, and
the process took considerable time during which bombs continued to fall
and grounded airplanes on the tarmac continued to explode.

Climbing quickly to 9,000 feet,
Lieutenant Rasmussen managed to shoot down one Zero before his own aging
fighter was raked with bullets. With two 20mm cannon shells buried in
the radio behind him and without rudder, brakes or tail wheel, he
managed to get back Wheeler Field.

In the confusion the 45th Pursuit Group
squadron operations officer Lieutenant Gordon Sterling grabbed the first
available plane. Whipping his watch from his wrist he handed it to the
crew chief and said, "Give this to my mother! I'm not coming
back!" Then he was airborne, engaged with enemy fighters...and then
gone. When Pearl Harbor survivors held their 60th reunion, Second
Lieutenant Sterling was still counted among the missing, the first such
airman of World War II.

When the smoke cleared, not only was the
Navy's Battleship Row awash in flame and debris, so too was every major
air field in Hawaii. The enemy had struck with complete surprise,
throwing 360 airplanes in two waves at the Hawaiian Island. American
airmen rose in that early morning to meet the surprise, just as they
would rise to repeated challenges in the years to come. One hundred and
eleven Japanese airplanes were damaged in the battle, twenty of them
beyond repair. Nine enemy aircraft were shot down by five young Army Air
Force pilots including the victory by the pajama-clad Lieutenant
Rasmussen and an impressive four victories by Second Lieutenant George
Welch. Both men were awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, the first
Air Force heroes of World War II.

USS
Shaw

The
respite lasted for only a brief fifteen minutes before the second wave of nearly 200
Japanese bombers, torpedo planes, and zeroes swooped in to finish whatever remained from
the first wave's attack. Battleships already struggling to stay afloat sustained new
damage and as quickly as fires were extinguished in one area, bombs and torpedoes from the
fresh wave of Japanese planes caused new eruptions, fires, and death. The Vestal
struggled to free itself from the doomed Arizona, and the Oklahoma nearly pinned
the Tennessee to the ground as it rolled over in the finality of death. In
a huge ball of fire, the USS Shaw literally blew apart. But above the din,
new sounds emerged with greater frequency. American sailors and Marines were
fighting back. Even as their ships bucked and swayed with hit after hit, as zeroes
strafed open positions and gun emplacements, and as the metal of many decks heated almost
beyond tolerance, resistance mounted. No longer was all the fire and smoke of battle indicative of
American losses.

Every man, regardless of rank or physical
condition, took it upon himself to fight the enemy. Navy Steward Dorie Miller had
never been trained in using a machine gun, but that didn't stop him from grabbing the
first one available and shooting back at the incoming airplanes. The Black Naval
Steward shot down his first plane and became a symbol of the resistance that day. He
was ultimately awarded the Navy Cross.

On the USS Maryland Captain Carter
turned to Commander Fitzgerald on the bridge and said, "We can't do much good up
here. Let's go down to the guns and give them a hand." Minutes later the
two officers stood shoulder to shoulder with their enlisted sailors to man the
anti-aircraft batteries.

On the cruiser New Orleans, Chaplain Howell Fogey
pitched in, passing ammunition to the men to keep the guns operating. When one Jap
plane was hit and began its fiery drop from the sky, he turned to grasp the next armful
with what would become one of the great quotes of the day, "Praise the Lord and pass
the ammunition."

Though only a small number of Japanese
airplanes were actually shot down that day, each flaming zero was a moral victory, badly
needed by the Americans.

USS
California

Anchored a short distance behind the other
battleships was the USS California, a ship considered to be behind not only in
positioning at anchor but in its readiness for war. Other sailors joked that the California
couldn't pass an admiral's inspection. On a day full of the unexpected, more men
aboard the California would earn Medals of Honor than any
other ship. The big guns of the California were firing back as the enemy planes
targeted her and continued to strafe her decks with bullets.

Machinist's Mate First
Class Robert R. Scott was assigned to work in the compartment containing the air
compressor. Suddenly he felt the California tremble as an enemy torpedo
ripped through her side. Water rushed into the gaping wound in the California's
side, making its way to the compartment where Scott was worked. Above he could hear
that, despite the severe damage to the California, the big anti-aircraft guns were still
firing. The flooding in the compartment was swift and dangerous. The other
crew members turned to flee to safety, urging Scott to follow them. He replied,
"This is my station and I will stay and give them air (the men above) as long as the
guns are going." The guns kept going, Scott kept supplying air, and the water
continued to flood the ship. Machinist's Mate Robert Scott died at his post.

Radio Electrician Thomas Reeves felt the
tremor as the California took its fatal hit. The damage destroyed the mechanized
hoists that moved ammunition from below deck to the huge guns that were now firing back at
the invading Japanese. Quickly the 45-year old career Navy man began passing
ammunition by hand, up the corridor to the big guns. Fire erupted and smoke filled
the hot corridor, but Reeves refused to give up his post and leave the anti-aircraft guns
without supply of ammunition. Sweating with exertion, fighting back any fear or
concern for himself, he continued to pass ammunition forward until the smoke and fire in
the corridor stole the last signs of life from his body. He died, two days before
his 46th birthday.

Ensign Herbert Charpoit Jones had organized
and led a crew of men in a similar ammunition supply effort for the anti-aircraft battery.
Just six days earlier he had celebrated his 23rd birthday. It would be his
last. As he directed the supply of ammunition towards the guns, another bomb
exploded, seriously injuring the young man from the same state for which his ship was
named. Fire erupted in the compartment where his broken body lay, deadly smoke
quickly filling every air space. Two sailors bent to recover the body of the wounded
officer. It was a valiant act, spawned be the desire to save their Ensign before
seeking safety themselves. Ensign Charpoit knew he was dying, knew their efforts
might only cost them their own lives. Gritting his teeth against the horrible pain,
he ordered, "Leave me alone! I am done for. Get out of here before the
magazines go off."

The USS California was rocked with hit
after hit as explosions shook the might battleship. The pounding was too
great and inches-thick steel peeled back like tin foil, opening gaping
wounds to admit the rush of briny water from the harbor. It was obvious
she was doomed and sinking fast.

Those above deck and able to move began
leaping into the oily waters in a desperate attempt to escape the
inferno and swim for shore. Hundreds more remained trapped beneath her
sinking deck, trying desperately to find a way topside to escape what
was rapidly becoming a tomb. Many men below were seriously inured from
the earlier explosions and unable to walk or even to craw to safety.

Lieutenant
Jackson Pharris was leading an ordnance repair party on the third deck
when the first torpedo hit the California. The explosion occurred
directly below him, throwing his body into the air to crash hard back on
the metal deck. The Lieutenant was badly wounded, but struggled to his
feet to organize the passing of ammunition back to the guns. Water and
oil continued to rush in where the port bulkhead had been torn apart by
the explosion. The heat of the fires was intense, and the acrid smoke
quickly damaged lungs. Despite his pain and heedless of the dangers
around him, he still directed the effort to maintain a hand-supply train
to the guns. It was evident that the California was sinking, but her
crew refused to go down without a fight.

With the demise of the California beyond
doubt and with nothing left to use to return fire, Lieutenant Pharris
refused to leave behind any man that could be saved. Repeatedly he ran
into flooded compartments to rescue unconscious sailors and drag them to
safety. Twice, he was overcome by smoke himself and fell unconscious.
Each time, upon regaining consciousness, he fought back the pain of his
wounds to return for more injured sailors. His example inspired panicky
men around him, encouraging them to not only try and get out themselves,
but to render life-saving assistance to their comrades.

When at last California sank into the
mud of the harbor, her crew had given a grand account in her final
moments of service. Of fifteen Medals of Honor awarded for heroism at
Pearl Harbor on that Day of Infamy, four went to men of the USS
California-more than any other ship in the harbor.

The
USS Nevada was the northernmost ship on battleship row, just ahead of
the Arizona.It promised
to be an easy day for the crew.The
ship's commander and executive officer had gone ashore leaving the junior
officers in charge.Some of the
men were planning a tennis tournament later in the day, others were preparing
for a swim at the nearby beach at Aiea Landing.Moments before the first Japanese planes appeared over the harbor much
of the crew had gathered for the 8:00 A.M. presentation of the colors.When the first enemy planes dove on the American ships the men aboard Nevada
held their ranks while the last notes of the National Anthem sounded.Then they broke formation to head for their guns.

Below
the ship's deck Warrant Machinist Donald Kirby Ross had just finished shaving.December 7th was the prelude to a special day, his birthday.Tomorrow the young man who had been born in Kansas, moved about from
various foster homes during his early life, and then enlisted in the Navy in
Colorado would be thirty-one years old.His
world, after an often-harsh childhood, was looking brighter.The Navy had become a wonderful home and ashore he had a girlfriend
waiting for him.Helen was a
student at the local university and the two had been dating and falling in
love.

When the first sounds of
warfare reached Ross, he ran to the forward dynamo room.This was his duty station, an area he knew well.The dynamo rooms contained the controls for large electrical generators
that kept the battleship running, that fed power to the guns, and that
illuminated the darkened corridors below deck.If something were amiss his ship would need power.If there was an emergency the Nevada might need power
to get underway.

"Getting
underway" was an impossible dream for all the big ships at Pearl Harbor
that December 7th morning, one of the single largest factors in the extent of
destruction they suffered.It
takes a long time to fire the huge boilers that power a battleship, often
hours to build up the steam necessary to turn the big screws that propelled
them into battle…or away from a massacre.To make matters even more difficult, such large ships usually require
the assistance of at least two (and often as many as four) tugboats to
maneuver in the confines of a harbor.

Fortunately for the Nevada,
two of its boilers were fired up that day.Normally they could not quickly get up enough steam to move the ship
out of harm's way, but that did not keep the junior officers aboard from
giving it their best efforts.While
the nearby Arizona was exploding in flames and as bombs ripped into
metal all across battleship row, Chief Boatswain's Mate Edwin Hill gathered a
crew to head for the wharf to which Nevada was tethered.Below deck Donald Ross and his crew were feeding electricity to power a
"run for it".Above,
Zeroes swooped low to spray the deck and wharf with leaden death.Ignoring the danger, Hill succeeded in reaching his pier and
casting off the mooring lines.While
the second wave of enemy made its run on the ships now dead in the water, the Nevada
was pulling away.

BMC Hill would not let his
ship leave without him.He jumped
from the pier and swam to the Nevada to help direct its escape.

Below
deck, Machinist Ross continued to supply the power needed to move the
battleship.Amazingly, under the
guidance of only junior officers only and without assistance from any of the
harbor's tugs, the big battleship was steaming away from the immediate area of
danger and towards the open water.It
was an unexpected sight--a thrilling sight--and a badly needed ray of hope in
a day that was otherwise devoid of anything to celebrate.

The Nevada, despite
its valiant escape, was a badly battered warship.Water poured through large holes and she was moving under a very
limited amount of power.Halfway
to open seas it became apparent the battleship would never reach safety.The young officers steered her towards the shoreline, hoping to settle
her in shallow water where she could continue to fight and survive the damage
already done.

Suddenly the current caught
the ship, wresting control from the navigators, and turning it completely
around.BMC Hill rushed forward
to drop anchor and keep the ship from being crushed against the rocks. Enemy
planes screamed from the sky and three bombs landed near the bow.

More
bombs rained from heaven, several landing directly on the huge battleship
itself. One even penetrated and exploded through its stack.The force of that explosion was felt throughout the struggling Nevada,
and the heat and smoke it generated whipped through the ship's ventilation
system with hurricane force.

In the forward dynamo room
Donald Ross was standing below one of the air ducts and took the blast full in
his face.The searing heat blinding him. Acrid and deadly smoke poured into the small room. It was the
kind of smoke that could quickly render a man unconscious and inflict
permanent lung damage...even agonizing death.Don Ross ordered everyone out.To
remain longer would be to die.But
Ross also knew that unless someone manned the all-important power station the
ship would lose power and all ability to fight back.

Power could be shifted to
the aft dynamo room but that would take some time.Alone in the smoke-filled room he ordered the power switch, then
struggled to remain conscious long enough to accomplish the transfer.It would take about 15 minutes to complete.

Throughout that period Don
Ross made the necessary adjustments and flipped the required switches to give
the aft dynamo room control of the ships electrical demands. All the while he
maintained communications with the men in that compartment by phone.When the job was almost finished the phone went dead.Ross had remained conscious long enough to do his job, then
collapsed. The final tasks of
securing the forward dynamo room, shutting it down after the transfer of
power, were uncompleted and Ross was either unconscious or dead.

Sailors rushed below and
pulled the barely alive body of Donald Ross from the room. Corpsmen did their
best to revive him but there were more problems as well.The forward dynamo room had still not been secured and the temperature
inside was reaching 140 degrees.Slowly
Ross regained consciousness.Then,
despite the efforts of his fellow sailors to restrain him and despite the fact
that he was blind, he braved the heat to feel his way back inside to secure
the forward dynamo room.When
he was at last finished he allowed himself to be helped to the deck where for
the first time he could breath fresh air.

When the battle ended the
ships still burned.Ross
told no one about his blindness, bluffing his way through organizing a clean
up on the Nevada.Then
word came that smoke was filling the aft dynamo room.No one could restrain Donald Ross from heading below, slowly feeling
his way through the corridor to rescue the men still in there.Moments later he emerged, his lungs filled again with the deadly
chemical smoke.Over his
shoulders he carried the prostrate body of a rescued sailor.It was finally too much for his badly abused body.As he carried his shipmate the last steps to safety Donald Ross
collapsed to the deck, blind and unconscious.

When
the smoke slowly cleared around the harbor the USS Nevada sat beached
at Hospital Point.Everything
below deck was filled with seawater but the ship was still upright, and
salvageable.She would fight
again, all because of the courage and leadership of junior officers, men like
BMC Edwin Hill, and a Machinist who always found enough strength to get the
job at hand done.

Posthumous awards of the Medal of Honor were made to
Warrant Officer Thomas Reeves, Machinist's Mate First Class Robert
Scott, and Ensign Herbert Jones of the USS California.Ensign Jackson Charles Pharris recovered from his wounds and
lived to have the Medal of Honor hung around his neck.He retired from the Navy as a Lieutenant Commander and died on
October 17, 1966 at the age of 54.

For his valiant efforts to save the USS Nevada,
Chief Boatswain's Mate Edwin Hill was also posthumously awarded the
Medal of Honor.The
battleship was salvaged four months later the USS Nevada sailed
out of Pearl Harbor under her own power for Bremerton, Washington.There she was rebuilt and returned to action in the Pacific in
1943.